What do you See?
by oldmule
Summary: Set post S9, the repercussions of Lucas's actions are still being felt and life is set to change for Harry and Ruth.
1. Chapter 1

"What's wrong?"

"Aargh!."

"Harry? Harry? What is it?"

"…Pain….head…"

"Don't worry."

Beth ran from the office.

"Dimitri call an ambulance! Tariq find Ruth, now!"

The phone was grabbed and Tariq turned away as the pod doors swished open and out stepped an oblivious Ruth.

"Ruth, quickly. It's Harry."

The two women hurried to his office. Ruth's heart raced with a fear she had only just overcome after his escapade on the roof of the Enver Tower.

"Harry, Harry, what is it?" she fell to her knees before him as he slumped forward in his chair, his hands clutching his head.

There was no answer.

"It was a terrible pain, he said, in his head," repeated Beth.

"Harry...?" Ruth reached up to his face, her fingers resting upon his hands that were clenched there.

He was fixed, his knuckles, white with tension, covered his eyes.

"Harry look at me," said Ruth, trying to control the rising panic she felt.

Nothing.

"Please."

"Ruth, " he gasped, "I can't."

She gently grasped his fingers and eased them away from his face.

"I'm here, Harry, it's okay."

Her voice was tender and soft and reassuring.

"Ruth…" his tone was desperate and quiet.

"What? What is it?" she held his hands, for once comfortable with the contact, eager to hold on, unwilling to let go.

His eyes opened and gazed on her face, the intense pain gone from his expression and replaced with a layer of fear.

"I can't see you, Ruth…..I can't see."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ambulance is two minutes away," called Dimitri from the doorway.

Tariq hovered there, his face frozen.

Beth stood by Harry's chair and looked desperately at the two figures before her.

"Don't leave me, Ruth," whispered Harry, his hands turning in hers and clinging to her fingers.

"I won't, I'm right here, Harry and I'm going nowhere."

Harry's unseeing eyes glanced towards the doorway and then swung back towards Ruth. She understood. She nodded to the others to go, to leave them, to leave him in his helplessness and fear.

They peeled away silently.

"Have they gone?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Harry, it's just us."

He nodded and held tight to her hands.

"Can you see anything? Light, shapes?"

He shook his head.

"Don't worry, It's probably something related to the bang on the head, some kind of temporary trauma," she reassured him.

"Yes, yes, of course" he replied, but there was little confidence in his words.

She glanced around wondering where the paramedics were.

He felt her hands pull away from him a little and unwillingly let go of them.

"Sorry, Ruth…"

"Don't be," she said, her fingers sliding over the back of his hands and grasping him as tightly as he had her. His thumb rose stroking her hand in response.

"Though you could have chosen a somewhat less dramatic way of holding my hand, Harry."

His mouth flickered with a smile.

"Yes, well, ideally this wouldn't have been my first choice, believe me Ruth."

She stared at him, free from the usual intensity of his eyes; her gaze free to wander across his face; free, for once, to let her expression betray her feelings.

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost aware of her.

"Looking at you," she answered without thinking.

"What do you see…. besides more than me?" he whispered, trying to smile but not quite succeeding.

She struggled. She could not put into words all that she saw.

"Ruth?"

His eyes searched for her but all they saw was a blank, a dark sad, sorry blank.

"Harry, tell me what you think you might see now, if only you could."

He hesitated.

"I would see your eyes….your blue, startling eyes looking at me. And I would presume them filled with pity."

"Then you _are_ temporarily blinded. Because pity is the last thing you would see."

Her right hand relinquished his and he missed it immediately.

He did not see it lift to within inches of his face, he did not sense it hesitate, he did not feel its craving to touch his skin, to stroke his face, to cradle the soft familiar face she loved so well.

Her fingers traced his contours in the air before her and then slipped unfulfilled back to his hand.

"Harry….I…" she hesitated.

"They're here," said Beth, breathlessly.

A pair of dulled, unseeing hazel eyes looked up blindly towards the door.

Whilst a pair of seeing, startling, beautiful blue eyes never moved their gaze from the man before her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Short one as I need to go to bed ridiculously early due to overwork and getting up at some ungodly hour!

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**

"Are you his wife?" asked the nurse.

Ruth opened her mouth, unsure of the answer she was about to give.

"Yes, she is," said Harry unfalteringly.

"Yes, I am," said Ruth.

"Good. Come this way," the nurse indicated her to follow.

"Ruth!" Harry's hand sought her out as he felt her warmth begin to disappear from him.

"Don't worry, Mr Pearce, she won't be far away."

Alone was how Harry looked. Frightened and alone.

It was not a look Ruth had often seen, it was not a look that suited him.

She turned away from the nurse, her hand grasping his and leant over him, her lips brushing his cheek.

"I'll be here, Harry, don't doubt that, I'll be here."

"Do you mind what I said…about us?" he whispered.

"No…..I.."

"Please, Mrs Pearce, we have to let your husband go for his tests," the nurse insisted, "he's in good hands."

Harry squeezed Ruth's hand, knowing that hers were the only 'good hands' he wished to be in.

"See you later….I hope," he whispered.

And she watched him being wheeled away. And felt her heart was being wheeled with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Blatantly lied - but now I am going to sleep!**

**

* * *

**

It was dark.

He was in a room filled with voices, questions.

He was alone.

There was only one thing besides his sight that he craved.

And it was her.

xxx

It was bright in the hallway.

She was surrounded by noise and movement.

She was alone.

Wishing for him. Wishing him sight. Wishing him well.

Wishing she had said yes.

xxx

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

"Any lights at all?"

"No."

"What about now?"

"No. Nothing."

"And now?"

"No."

"How about that?"

"I can't _see_ anything!"

xxx

"How long will he be?"

"Try not to worry."

"How long?"

"Not long."

"I can't help but worry."

"Have you been married long?"

"No."

"How long?"

"Not long."

xxx

It was dark and he was tired.

He was scared.

He had no control.

His ears sought out her voice.

His hand awaited her touch.

And it was so dark.

xxx

Her eyes craved the sight of him.

Her heart leapt and yet plummeted at the sadness that surrounded him.

Her hand reached out for him.

Her warmth permeated him.

xxx

He felt her.

He touched her.

He heard her whisper hope.

And for a moment his world became a little lighter.


	5. Chapter 5

Over seven years their hands had touched but three or four times, now they sought each other out as greedily as the air they breathed.

She sat by his bed, her eyes filled with concern and affection. Her hands resting on his.

"What have they said?" she asked.

"It could be because of the bang on the head. They're not sure."

"Are they doing more tests?"

He shook his head.

"No, they're sending me home."

"And that's it!"

"They need to wait. They are hoping it's a temporary loss of sight."

He smiled sadly.

"They're not the only ones."

A moment passed between them.

"I wish I could see you, Ruth."

She didn't reply.

He thought what life would be like to never see her again.

She gazed at the sad shadow that drifted across his features and settled there.

Her fingers grasped his hand tighter and lifted it to her face, cupping her cheek. His fingers spread across the soft skin, treasuring the sensation.

"You're smiling," he said, feeling her cheek move beneath his thumb.

"Yes, Harry. I am."

The door opened and a nurse came in.

"We're happy for you to take him home now, Mrs Pearce."

Harry felt the smile slide from Ruth's face. His hand slipped away with it.

"Oh, yes...okay, right," she stuttered.

"I'll just get his medication for you," said the nurse already on the way out.

"Anyone would think I'm not here," muttered Harry as he wondered how he was going to cope on his own blundering around the house.

"Come on Harry, time to go," Ruth said brightly.

But Harry didn't move.

"I'm fine Ruth, you don't need to do this."

"And who else is going to help you?"

She had a point. Who else was there in his life. Catherine was abroad, Graham he didn't even have a number for and Jane, well obviously not Jane. There was no one but Ruth. And that for him was the grand summation of his life.

"Besides, Harry, it's not about me not needing to do this," Ruth continued, "it's about me wanting to do it."

"But you must have more important things to do."

"No, Harry, there's nothing more important."


	6. Chapter 6

"One last one."

His hand rested upon her arm as they climbed the steps to his front door.

He heard the key click in the lock and felt the change in temperature and atmosphere as they crossed the threshold into his house.

Ruth flicked on the light switch and Harry's head turned quickly.

"Can you see the light?" Ruth asked hopefully.

"No," he shook his head, lost.

She wanted to hold him, to reassure him but instead she simply led him to the sofa. He sat down wearily.

"I'll put the kettle on and make some dinner," she said looking around to get her bearings and wondering if he had got any food in.

"I could do with something stronger than tea, Ruth."

"I'm sure you could, but tea is what you're getting. Doctor's orders."

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"And whatever you're about to say won't make any difference, Harry."

Ruth turned away in search of the kitchen and food.

Harry sat and felt deeply sorry for himself. Alone in a falsely darkened living room. Bereft of not only his sight and her presence but also a drink.

Ruth studied the contents of the fridge. It did not take long.

"Right…" she said softly to herself, "that'll be an omelette then." Eggs, some tomatoes and a corner of mature cheddar would have to do. She pulled out a pan and turned on the cooker and as she reached for the eggs there was an almighty crash from the other room.

"Harry?" she ran into the living room.

He stood by the window, his face a picture of anger and frustration. In his hand hung a decanter of amber liquid, at his stocking feet a shattering of broken glass.

"Don't move," she said.

"What do you think I'm doing!" he snapped.

The glass splintered and broke further as Ruth stepped to him, gently taking the decanter from his hand and replacing it on the side table. She bent at his feet and collected the largest shards closest to him, clearing a path. She took his hand and led him away towards the sofa.

He sat silently, his head bowed.

He could hear Ruth clearing up the debris. She had said nothing and he regretted the way he had spoken to her but yet as he sat there it wasn't in him to apologise.

He felt a hand lifting his and opening out his palm and then he felt the chill of the glass.

"A small one and that's all, Harry, so make it last."

He felt her turn away to the kitchen.

"Ruth…."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for….apart from being a bad patient."

"An impatient patient," he said, the flicker of a smile around his lips.

"One who looks a damn sight happier now he's got a glass in his hand," she chided. "I hope you like omelettes because that's all there is." And with that she disappeared into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Harry raised his glass and resisted the temptation to down the contents in one.

She lay down the plate before him and watched him feel for the fork. He raised it in the direction of the plate and it hovered above the omelette, finally coming down to one side with the sound of metal hitting crockery.

She had been watching him unguardedly when suddenly she realised the difficulty.

"Here, let me," she said softly, taking his hand and guiding it to the food.

"I'm not hungry," he said blankly and let go the fork which clanged onto the plate.

He couldn't bear the thought of her seeing him so helpless.

"Harry, please, you need to eat."

"I'm sorry you've gone to so much trouble, Ruth, but I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Just leave me alone," he snapped.

The silence hung heavy in the air. He was almost glad he could not see the hurt on her face, if hurt there was, maybe it was anger, perhaps it was pity. Whatever it was, it was his fault.

"Harry," she spoke softly, "I can't begin to imagine how difficult this is for you, but whatever you say and however harshly you say it, I'm still going nowhere. You can let me help you or you can feel sorry for yourself. It's up to you."

He heard her resume eating. Heard cutlery. Heard cup lifted from saucer.

She watched him struggling with his emotions, fighting the fear and the anger. And she waited.

"Would you help me, Ruth?" he whispered, finally.

"Yes, Harry, I will."

He nodded gently.

"So are you hungry?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Good," she said, beginning to cut his omelette into pieces, "I'll go and do some shopping in the morning."

"The morning?"

"Yes, Harry, you have got a spare room haven't you?"

He looked towards her, towards the voice.

"But, Ruth, I don't need a babysitter, you don't need to stay."

"I'm staying."

She put the fork back in his hand, helped guide it to the food and from there towards his mouth.

"Open," she said firmly.

He opened his mouth obediently and she let go of his hand letting him take the mouthful himself.

"Very good," he said, swallowing.

"What the omelette, or the fact that I'm staying?" she asked and he thought he could hear a smile in her voice.

"Both," he said.

And she was smiling.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay in updating but couldn't get a wifi signal to post!**

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"Please sit next to me."

She hesitated, already half lowered into the armchair, before rising and then gently sitting down on the sofa beside him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Harry, I'm sure this will be temporary."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I…I'm not sure, it's just that I think it will be."

"No, Ruth, you just hope it will be. Like I do."

She sighed and knew it was true, she had no reason, it was all hope.

They sat quietly together.

"Would you like me to put the news on?" she asked.

"No."

"Some music?"

"No."

"Can I get you anything, Harry, more tea?"

"Definitely not," he muttered grumpily.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked patiently.

In answer his hand moved from his side and palm upright it hovered beseechingly beside her.

She raised hers and gently, palm down took his, but to her surprise he withdrew from her until only his fingertips were touching her hand. They slid featherlite across her nails, her knuckles, the back of her hand and then back again, slipping underneath and down her fingers and onto her palm. She felt the hairs stand on the back of her neck and stopped herself from the shiver that was wanting to overtake her. She closed her eyes and joined him in the dark and relished the simplicity of the contact, the intimacy of the moment, as their fingers danced to a silent, slow, beguiling rhythm.

"Ruth," he whispered.

"Mmm."

"I don't want you to go."

"I'm not."

"I mean, I don't want you to leave me."

"Harry, I told you, I'm staying, don't you remember?"

"Yes, in the spare room."

"Yes, exactly."

"But, I don't want you to."

"Look, you can't manage on your own, not yet anyway, it's all too new, Harry."

"No," he said and the dance finished as he grasped her hand and stilled both their fingers. "No, Ruth, I mean…I mean…"

"What?" she asked reigning in the exasperation.

"Nothing. Nothing, it's fine. I'm fine. Just confused."

She watched him intently. Watched the furrow of his brow, the pull on his lip, the clench of his jaw.

And then she began to understand.

"You want me to stay close?" she asked simply.

"Yes," he sighed, barely audibly.

"Not in the spare room?"

"No. I don't mean, you know… I just…I…"

"You just need someone near tonight, is that is Harry?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Okay."

"Thank you," he said, "thank you."

She nodded forgetting the futility of it.

"It won't be a problem," added Harry, as lightly as he could manage, "it's not like I'll see anything I shouldn't."

Half laugh, half sigh escaped her.

"Perhaps not, but it's what you try seeing with your hands that's worrying me."

She wasn't worrying. Worrying was definitely the last thing she would call what she was feeling.

"I'll be a gentleman, I promise," he said sweetly.

Damn, she thought.

"Not to mention dog tired," he added, trying to reassure her further.

"Come on, then," she muttered.

And the two rose from the sofa as she guided him to the stairs.


	8. Chapter 8

"Can you manage?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so, though if you hear an enormous crash, you'll know I was wrong," he smiled, pulling the bathroom door shut behind him.

Ruth wandered into his bedroom and glanced around. It was simple, functional, organised, tidy and in need of a woman.

She looked in the closest and discovered the jogging bottoms that he had mentioned. The fact that Harry had jogging bottoms was funny enough but the idea of her wearing them was even stranger.

She turned instead to a well worn collarless shirt that she found there. She put it on and found it was long enough to be decent and yet was surprisingly flattering.

And as she stood looking at herself in the mirror it dawned on her the futility of what she was doing. He would not, could not see what she was seeing.

Harry clambered out of the shower, not really knowing if he had washed himself with shower gel, conditioner or shampoo. At least he smelt good. He felt for the towel and dried himself and then reached out in search of the t shirt and boxers that Ruth had picked out for him.

How strange was his life suddenly, that it took Ruth to pick out his undergarments. And how sad he thought that he would not be able to appreciate hers.

He opened the bathroom door and felt his way across the hall, in search of the doorway to his bedroom.

"Ruth?" he called.

"Yes, Harry, I'm here."

He crossed forwards, his hands outstretched, his steps tentative. He knew the bed was in front of him somewhere.

"Turn to your right," advised Ruth.

He did.

"A couple of steps forward and you're there," she added.

"Thank you," he said as his legs touched the side of the bed. His hands again sought out something and this time he felt the duvet, he traced its edge and pulled it down, sitting, and then he swung his legs under the covers and rested his weary head against the pillows.

"Are you okay?" came a quiet, gentle voice from beside him.

"I am now," he whispered.

"Good," she said.

"Did you find the jogging bottoms and t shirt?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Are they okay?"

"I thought they'd be too warm."

His mind ran riot imagining Ruth lying only inches from him wearing what?

"I picked one of your old shirts instead," she added shyly.

"Oh"

She worried that he was upset.

"Is that okay, Harry?"

"Yes fine," he could hardly say that it was more than fine, that he was thinking about her naked legs which were so very close to him.

"Good," she said, her hands twitching to reach out for him and yet adhering religiously to her side of the bed, "you should get some sleep. It's been a hard day for you."

"Yes," he agreed, clenching his fists, in need of her touch. Her skin. Her.

He closed his eyes and she looked at him, she needed no pretence, she could watch him the whole night long if she so desired and at this moment in time she did so desire.

"Good night, Ruth," he whispered.

"Good night, Harry, sleep well."

And both lay in the dark.

Harry's dark was totally so but for his vivid imagination.

Ruth's dark was light enough to see Harry lying next to her, a look of intensity on his face.

And so they lay, till both fell asleep, neither touching but both dreaming, craving a touch, an intimacy, a physicality that neither dared reach out for.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for all reviews.**

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Harry opened his eyes, the room was dark. He glanced up towards the digital clock but it was not there.

And then he remembered.

His hand reached out and felt the clock for all the good it did him. There was no way he could know the time.

With the awareness of his blindness came something else he was suddenly, and most wonderfully aware of. The sound of breathing, deep and regular coming from behind him.

Ruth.

He turned as carefully as he could until he was on his right side. Her breathing had not changed. She was asleep.

In all the hours he had wished his sight back this was the moment he pleaded for it most, to be able to lie here looking at her, curled beside him.

He could not still his hand, he could not stop it reaching out and gently, carefully coming to rest…he was not sure where it would be…. on her shoulder. She was facing him, on her side as he was.

Her breath caught slightly and he froze but then it began its gentle, deep rhythm once more. He lay patiently, imaging her face. And then his hand delicately drifted down, his fingers stroking the well worn material of his shirt as he traced a line down her arm, over her elbow and dropped onto her waist, where he lingered a moment as his fingers spread lightly wanting to grasp her, hold her, feel her.

Ruth's eyes were open.

His first touch has roused her from her sleep and as her eyes had opened to see him lying before her she had quickly sought to maintain a rhythm to her breathing that would convince him that he had not disturbed her. She didn't know why. She just wanted to watch him.

But then his hand had started moving and she had been roused all over again.

He had paused long enough and began to travel once more, descending further. To her hips.

He felt the hem of the shirt and tantalisingly beyond it soft, warm skin. His fingers dared to venture over the edge as he stroked the top of her thigh, his breathing becoming heavier, deeper. The urge to plunge over the edge of both shirt and temptation was beyond tantalising.

Ruth watched the desire spread across his face. And then she saw the self control kick in as his jaw clenched and his hand slid back to her shoulder.

She lay quietly for a moment and then turned slowly onto her back with a gentle moan, as though she were still sleeping. As she did so Harry's resting hand was eased from her arm and was drawn with her movement across her right breast. As she settled his fingers felt the buttons of the shirt, pulled slightly apart, between her breasts. A fingertip dipped through the gap and was once more entranced by her skin.

He withdrew suddenly.

He turned and faced the other way.

He had promised her, he would be a gentleman.

He was far too close from being anything but.

He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and thought of anything but Ruth.

She turned her head and glanced over at him. At his back.

Her hand reached out, lay only millimetres away, but did not make that final contact.

She wondered what he was thinking.

Why he had stopped.

Why he did not want her.

She closed her eyes and thought of nothing but Harry.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry opened his eyes.

He reached out and felt only a cold space beside him.

His head hurt.

He had slept fitfully, thinking about her. Wanting her.

He could hear the shower.

He needed the tablets the doctor had given him to stop the pain that seemed to have taken up residence in his head.

He stumbled out of bed and groped his way towards the door, banging his shin against the chest of drawers. For a moment the pain distracted him from his headache.

He reached out and felt the door before him and headed across the hall, arms outstretched towards the sound of the shower.

He knocked on the door but there was no answer.

He turned the handle, fortunately it was not locked and he pushed it ajar, "Ruth," he called.

"Harry!" came a surprised shriek from beyond.

"I need some tablets, can I get them?"

Ruth hesitated and then wondered what was wrong with her, she may be naked but he could not see her.

"Yes…yes, of course."

He felt along the wall towards the basin and found the plastic bottle that stood between the taps.

"Is it your head again?" asked the voice from the shower.

"Yes."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes."

He took two of the tablets and feeling for the tap leant down putting his mouth to the water, sucking in enough to swallow the tablets. And then he leant, eyes closed against the pain, resting against the sink.

He heard the water turn off and the shower door open.

He turned to the noise and saw Ruth reaching for a towel.

He saw Ruth reaching for a towel.

He saw Ruth.

He saw.

Ruth turned hearing the gasp from Harry.

"What's wro…?' she began.

But something about the way he was looking at her stopped her short. He was looking her. With open, wide eyes.

She instinctively grabbed the towel and flung it around her naked body.

Harry turned away, roused from his reverie.

"Ruth, I'm sorry,' he mumbled and then staggered, sinking towards the floor with an agonised groan.

She fell to her knees beside him, her wet hand on his back.

"Harry?"

He was doubled over, his breath gasping against the pain.

She rubbed his back ineffectually, desperate to help but unable to do so. Her wet hair dripping onto him. His head coming to rest on her shoulder he finally quietened and his breathing began to calm.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

"It's tolerable, now," he replied.

"Harry, can you see, again?"

His head lifted and eyes searched for hers.

He shook his head.

"But…the way you looked before… at me," she hesitated.

"I did, for a moment, blurred but there, I did see you...but now it's gone. There's nothing again."

She cradled his face in her hands.

"But this must be a good sign. If you can see even briefly then it may come back soon and next time for good."

He nodded.

"I'll phone the hospital and let them know, I would imagine they'll want you to go in."

He sighed.

"Come on," she said and started pulling him to his feet.

She smelt good. Clean and fresh and desirable.

"Harry?" she said quietly.

"Mmm."

"Next time you think you might get a flash of sight back do you think you could let me get dressed first?"

"It's a bit rich of you to talk about flashing Ruth."

"You haven't answered my question."

He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean, you're not sure?"

"Well, if I only have single images to grasp at, single moments that will live me always in the darkness, then I'd rather have ones like that."

He smiled.

"Harry get out of the bathroom."

He shut the door behind him. He did not see the smile that was spread across her reddened face.


	11. Chapter 11

"What did you see?" asked the consultant.

Ruth shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

Harry hesitated.

"An image. It was blurred."

"How blurred? Could you make it out? Was it clear enough to know what it was?"

"Oh yes," said Harry, a little too eagerly.

Ruth blushed and wished the doctor would just move on.

"And how much detail could you see?"

So much for moving on.

Harry cleared his throat.

Ruth looked at her feet.

"Well, enough to appreciate the beauty of it," was Harry's tactful and rather endearing answer.

Ruth's mouth hovered in a smile.

"And how long did it last for, Mr Pearce?"

"Not nearly long enough."

"No I can appreciate that," said the consultant sympathetically.

"I don't think you can," said Harry with a smile.

"Well, it's a good sign, as your wife suggested. Sometimes we struggle to find the actual precise reason for things where head traumas are concerned. I am afraid you will need to be patient for a little while longer but I am fairly confident that your sight will return when your body feels itself sufficiently healed."

Ruth nodded happily.

Harry gazed nowhere in particular.

"Patience is not my speciality," he said finally.

"I am sure your wife will help you while away the time?" he looked at Ruth.

"I'll do my best," she smiled.

"You'll just need to think of something to stop you worrying, something to keep you occupied."

Both of them nodded. They could both think of something that would keep them well occupied though neither would ever dare to suggest it.

As they walked to Ruth's car, his hand on her arm, the sun came out.

Harry's heart felt a little lighter.

The warmth of spring, the smell of the grass fresh from a recent shower, and the image of a naked Ruth in his mind.

Life was not so bad.

"I suppose we really should tell them that we're not married," said Harry.

"Do you think?" Ruth found she was quite liking the idea after all.

"Well, maybe not. It might be a little late now."

"Best just leave it as is, not confuse them," she agreed.

"Yes, you're right."

They sat in the car.

"Okay, so what do you fancy doing?" asked Ruth.

Harry resisted the temptation of repeating what was in his mind.

His hand sought hers and his thumb brushed against the back of her hand.

"You don't have to entertain me, Ruth. You have your own life and I don't want to intrude upon it."

"My own life consists of bed and work, Harry and very little else."

He smiled, it was a phrase his dad had often used when work became all consuming.

"That's the trouble with the job," he agreed, "maybe we should drop in, I might be able to do something useful?"

"Not a chance, you're recouperating," she insisted.

He smiled.

"Well, if it's all bed and work, Ruth, and there's no work, that leaves…."

"You're right."

"I am?" he said shocked.

"Yes," she wasn't really listening to him, "let's go to Kew?"

"Kew? Who mentioned Kew?"

"Flowerbeds, Harry. You might not be able to see them, but by god I bet you can smell them. And on a day like today it should be lovely."

"Flowerbeds. Yes, Ruth, why not."

"Tell me the colours."

"In a minute. Describe to me what you can smell first."

"I can smell your shower gel."

"Harry!"

"Sorry. I can smell something very powerful, very fragrant, quite heavy, reminds me of something but I can't think what."

"They're purple."

"Hyacinth!' He exclaimed.

Ruth laughed, he reminded her of a child in school, delighted at their discovery of the right answer.

They walked on side by side, her hand in his. And all appeared normal but for the darkness that surrounded him. A darkness he was beginning to notice less and less because what he saw in his mind's eye was her and she was beautiful and gentle and she was holding his hand.

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Thanks for all the reviews, there will be more to come.


	12. Chapter 12

**I know this is visiting old ground but was sorely tempted, will try not to be so predictable again!**

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They came home, they ate dinner and they went to bed.

And all of these things they did together.

No mention was made of Ruth going home, no word was spoken of the spare room and no sign was given that this was not to be expected.

She unlocked the bathroom door and walked into his bedroom, dressed in the shirt she had so easily adopted. The lights were out and she bumped into something hard.

"Are you alright?" came a voice from the bed.

"Yes, just getting a touch of what you're going through," she replied, pulling back the duvet and sliding beneath.

He considered offering to rub better whatever was hurting.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Ruth."

And they lay as the night before, observing their separate sides of the bed.

But this time they did not stay that way.

Harry turned over onto his side.

Ruth hesitated but then her hand crept forward and met his waist, her arm resting casually across him, her hand sensing the skin at the bottom of his back where his T shirt had ridden up. The breath caught in her chest as she wondered what he would think… was thinking… would do.

He said nothing, he gave no sign, he did not move.

Ruth stayed where she was, still, her hand closed, resisting the urge. Sleep felt far from her.

Harry lay hardly daring to breathe. He feared that if he moved she would pull away from him. So there he stayed pondering his next gesture, his next word.

The more Ruth told her fingers to stay where they were, the more they wanted to move. The more she tried not to think about Harry's skin being only millimetres away, the more she could think of nothing else.

Just one more touch, thought Harry, just one more. Just a sign. Something. Something, whatever it was and then he would act, then he would respond.

Her fingers uncurled and as she edged closer and closer she could feel the heat of him. And then she touched him.

His chest rose, his anticipation rose, his hope rose.

Her fingertips stroked his back, slowly and lightly, her hand remaining still, just her fingers stretching out, achingly.

Harry moved his arm.

Ruth pulled her hand away.

"Don't Ruth," he whispered.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No, don't stop…it's nice."

His arm wound around her waist, as hers returned to his. He pulled her closer.

And the two held each other, their fingers dancing a gentle slow dance against the other.

They both were well aware of wanting more but for this single moment in time the pleasure of being so close, of feeling such joy from the comfort of each other was enough.

And so they eventually slept, wound together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Old ground, new action!**

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Harry's eyes opened.

Ruth was lying curled up next to him, a small pout on her lips. A strand of hair, rhythmically disturbed by her breath, lay across her face.

He gently reached out and delicately brushed it away.

He thought she looked beautiful.

Rather than curse his vision, or usual lack thereof, he blessed it for once again choosing the most well timed moment to return. He determined not to worry about how long it lasted but rather enjoy it while he could.

With a mix of reluctance yet expectation his eyes slid from her face, they drifted lower and discovered the open necked shirt, buttons barely done up.

It was stretched across her, revealing her neck, her collarbone and a hint of her shoulder.

His lips and fingers were eager but his eyes had not finished.

Down once more they drifted, over the material that stretched across her breasts, the buttons pulling, begging for release.

On to the next buttons, undone and exposing her belly button, her stomach and then the top of her midnight blue pants, and beyond the length of her legs. Her thighs tucked up towards him.

Lips and fingers screamed that it was their turn now.

His lips found her collarbone, his fingers ran up her thigh and over the silk and lace of her underwear and then up and on to the small of her back and up, up her spine.

He felt the low moan beneath his lips as she awoke.

"Harry," she whispered, but his mouth was too busy to answer.

His kisses overwhelmed her neck and sent shivers up her spine caught there by his hand which fanned out, his fingertips massaging her back.

His lips trailed to her ear, his tongue dancing expertly around her earlobe before she heard his voice resonate through every cell in her body.

"Do you want me to stop, Ruth?"

It was her hands that answered. He felt them suddenly, one on his chest, the other following his lead and winding it's way up the inside of his tshirt, her fingernails gently scraping against his back causing him to gasp. A gasp that ran through her, so close was it to her ear.

Her lips needed to find his but yet she did not want him to withdraw from where he was.

His hand changed its course from her back and slipped around her waist, fingers spread across her stomach, pushing slowly up, teasingly close beneath her breasts.

His mouth trailed across her cheek and finally found her lips and the kiss that had been desired, but refused for so very long, for so many years was satisfied again, this time not with sadness, nor despair, nor the taint of goodbye but with a greeting of hope and of passion and of promise.

Her hands reached out to his hips and pulled him closer, entreating.

His hand that had resisted, gave up and slid over her breast, fingertips seeking her nipple, lips screaming for their turn too.

Fingers found alternatively lace and waistband and both dipped beneath, at once touching, feeling, caressing as the need to tug and pull and remove overcame them.

Skin against skin, lips against lips, hands encouraging, preparing, thrilling.

They were lost in each other.

His tongue found her chest, breast, her nipple. His fingers probed and sought, her head tilted back, her eyes closed, her hips arching up to meet him.

And he could wait no more, he needed to feel her, to be within her and as he pushed gently he watched her face contort, her mouth open, her brow furrow in concentration and desire, her head arch and her mouth gasp for air. He saw the pleasure, the need, the ecstasy rise within her and then slam over her, engulfing her like a wave until her face relaxed, her body stilled and satisfied.

If his sight were to desert him forever then this would be the image he would hold in his heart.

Her eyes opened and she gazed at the intense, piercing hazel eyes that seemed to devour hers.

"Harry?" She knew something had changed, "What can you see?"

"You, Ruth," he smiled, "I can see you."

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**May leave it there, or not, depends if I can think of anything worth it, or if you want more.**


	14. Epilogue

**You're all voracious for more, so here's an epilogue. Thanks for the beautiful reviews.**

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"Well Mr Pearce, I would suspect that if your sight has been constant for the last four hours as you suggest then it should remain so."

Harry smiled and glanced at Ruth.

"What were you doing when it returned?"

"I just woke up and could see."

"And did anything significant happen after that?"

Ruth blushed.

Harry hesitated.

The consultant guessed.

"I meant was there any headache to accompany it?"

"No," said Harry seriously, "definitely not a headache in sight."

"Right," and the consultant nodded and looked away to save any more blushes.

"Can I go back to work?" asked Harry.

"When were you thinking of?"

"Today," he said simply.

Ruth looked at him quickly and then at the consultant for support.

"I can't force you to take more time off but I would advise it."

"Harry, at least have the rest of the day."

"There's things to do, Ruth, I am going to be way behind. And I don't want to be spending every evening in the office." He looked at her, he had plenty more things to do with his time and most of them revolved around her.

She sighed.

The consultant looked on, "I suspect he'll only do what he wants whatever we say," he said to Ruth.

"Oh yes, he's very stubborn."

"Stubborn but right," said Harry standing up and reaching for his coat.

"And self opinionated," added Ruth with a smile.

"Hey, Tariq," Dimitri summoned him over and whispered, "do you think they have, or haven't?"

Tariq followed his gaze from Harry's office to Ruth's desk.

"Haven't," said Tariq.

"Reasoning?" asked Beth.

"Well…." he pondered, "it's Harry and Ruth."

His case rested.

"Fair point," said Dimitri.

"What about you?" Tariq asked.

"I think haven't, Beth thinks has."

Alec walked by shaking his head, "Then Beth is the only decent spook amongst you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" bristled Dimitri.

"Look at them, for god's sake. It's obvious."

Beth looked smug.

"Obvious how?" asked Tariq, confused.

Alec sighed and perched on the edge of the desk.

"They both smell of the same shampoo, Ruth's blouse has one more button undone than usual, Harry hasn't stopped smiling for about an hour and in ten seconds from now Ruth will blush."

All four faces turned surreptitiously to Ruth. Her head was bowed over her computer, her face concentrated.

"Five, four, three, two, one," counted Alec.

A red wave washed over Ruth.

"How did you know?" asked Tariq amazed.

Alec grinned and left.

The team looked to Harry's office, he was gazing at Ruth, one hand still resting on his keyboard. She looked up and he winked. A small smile crept across her reddened face and once more she glanced down to her screen.

_I miss you, I need you and I want you. Sleep with me tonight and I promise to make it last all night.. H x_

Her smile did not disappear. She didn't think it ever would.


End file.
